in the ocean somewhere
A year ago I had just arrived in Guatemala, wide-eyed and backpacker green. I had a rough outline of what I would do and where I would go for only the first three months, and had no idea when I would return home again. I wept in spite of myself when I said goodbye at the airport, the inner terror leaking out of my brave resolve. It’s a strange, liberating, and frightening feeling to leave everything you know and love behind in search of yourself.
I met Eduardo, my Spanish professor at my language school in Guatemala, and for the next four weeks I was swept away by his engaging, honest stories of his personal history interwoven in the history of his country. I stayed with a host family and had a daily routine; the intensity and character-building of the true nomadic backpacker life would not come for another five months. The relatively ‘safe’ and structured set up allowed me to ease into what would become a ten month intensive training in releasing expectations, saying yes to almost anything, shedding old skins, and trusting myself.
Looking at who I was then, before all of the incredible experiences, before all of the hundreds of people I would meet and subsequently have to say goodbye to, before facing mortality and losing three people I knew to wrongful deaths, before the days of laughter and carefree abandon with fellow travelers, before those days of lonely anxiety, before confronting fear and inhibition through numerous adventures requiring liability waivers, before an earthquake, a military coup, countless stomach bugs, waterfalls, landscapes, Mayan/Incan ruins, bus rides, scuba dives, hostels, clubs, restaurants, and prayers, had I had any idea then what I would end up doing, I might’ve pulled the breaks and made a more ‘productive’ and ‘measurable’ plan. As it stood, my ‘productive, measureable’ plan was to volunteer at every chance I had and avoid the gringo tourist trail as much as possible. This ‘plan’ dissolved in the Caribbean Ocean, some where between my 25th and 93rd scuba dive. The gringo tourist trail embraced me, swept me up, and spat me back out changed and challenged in ways I could not have guessed.
I watched myself grow up, grow into myself. I watched myself grapple with old patterns I wanted to rid myself of forever by making the same mistakes; shrinking to accommodate other people’s egos, playing small to be able to fit in with the crowd. I cried from loneliness and the sheer overwhelming feeling and expanse of it all, but I didn’t know how to explain the tears. I watched myself learn to be alone, and learn to embrace it as a better option than compromising myself just to have a crowd. But I also met amazing people who inspired me, made me laugh, and shared experiences with them that are so incredibly unique, I will never ever forget them even if we only knew each other a couple of days. Every person I met taught me something about myself, pushed me, and helped me stand stronger in the person I am and want to be, even if what they showed me was the kind of person I am not.
And again, upon my return, instead of what I intended/expected (which was to ‘sell out’ to some corporate job to earn lots of money to save and turn around to travel again as soon as possible), the universe directed me instead to a job at an international nonprofit organization. Of all the job interviews I had, this is the job I wanted the most. It just went to show me, in yet another circumstance, that while ‘selling out’ to a high-paying job has its qualities, it just isn’t who I am. That you can set all kinds of expectations and chose to feel liberated when nothing follows the ‘productive, measurable’ plan.
I remember a year ago careening around the corner in a Guatemalan chicken bus holding on for dear life and feeling so free, terrified and ready. I feel the same way today.
march 2010
